On Solstice the snows began. I parked my little
GEO
up the hill and around the bend, at my good neighbors. They call me their living
barometer. Whenever they come home to find my car in their generous parking area they know
there is to be weather. My little car would hardly negotiate the long steep driveway up
and out of my place with even a dusting of snow. I usually don't appreciate getting stuck.

The day before Christmas we were already under a nice blanket of snow - most exciting
and equally unusual for the San Juan Islands of the Pacific Northwest. If we get three
inches of snow in any given year thats a lot of snow. The good neighbors were able
provide a trusty, albeit rusty, old wooden sled, removed from a hook in their old shed out
back, covered with cobwebs and good memories. The makings of one fine Christmas dinner
were strapped upon this once cherished toy. Soon I was off in the silence of nature
careening a way down that steep, snow covered drive to my cozy little cabin on the beach.

This sled proved quite a pal as the snow continued to accumulate day by day. It
provided transport of a few necessities, and lent more than a few slick moves down the
steepest part of the driveway. That is until I brilliantly tried to sled downhill
headfirst, and promptly ended up in a snow bank, stuffed like last weeks turkey; the white
stuff cooling off my neck, and quickly dripping down my back. It was a mad dash to the
solace of the wood stove and soon out of the long johns.

The biggest dilemma of the unlikely snow storms arrived at about three in the morning.
A family of river otters didn't waste time taking delight in a little holiday cheer once
they'd moved into the crawl space below my humble beachside abode. And so it was. What in
ever were they up to? What's next I wondered ? Oh Otters may be awful cute, playful, furry
critters, but as a neighbor they can raise a big stink. Literally. If they decided to nest
below, I'd be the one moving out.

First thing the next morning the Department of Fish and Wildlife was consulted for
clever ideas to convince these Otters to move on. Well, these guys got all philosophical
on me, pondering things like who was there first - the Otters, the beach front, or that
little cabin? They did suggest that noise might chase them off and said I could try
stomping around on the floor, and play lots of loud music. However, they cautioned me not
to play Garth Brooks or Lyle Lovett or - they guaranteed - I'd never get rid of them!
Honest. Those guys were about as obnoxious as the Otters!

I gave in to the hope that just maybe this mischievous little family of otters would
merely weather the storm below, and be on their way, back in the bay, once the snows
melted.

Not surprisingly nature broke a few more records the following night, dumping an
unprecedented five feet of snow, sporting six to eight foot drifts. As Whatcom County
seldom has snow enough to warrant more than a couple of plows, the entire county was shut
down! We Islanders, small community that we are, are the last on the list for assistance.
This kind of weather is unheard of in the San Juan Islands. Each time I got up to stoke
the wood stove through the night, I had to open the front door to push back the quickly
accumulating snow or, by morning, I'd have been literally snowed inside.

On "The Day of the Drifts" the Otters demonstrated the finer techniques of
sliding in the snow. A few feet from the house, near the entrance to our "Winter
Chalet" a drift nearly six feet high provided hours of fun as this Otter family of
three slid down nearly into the bay - depending on the tides - only to climb out to do it
again, and again, and again. I took notes. Somehow they never ended up headfirst in a
snowbank. What were a playful delight to observe.

Warm and cozy inside I sat sipping hot chocolate, listening to Garth and Lyle. I even
cracked the front window open just a little to share the tunes. Smiling, I thoroughly
enjoyed some true entertainment.

On one struggle through the thigh high snow and drifts to dig out the tarp covered wood
pile, I discovered some rather odd tracks in the snow. Otter tracks. It looked as though
someone on a heavy, wide, square ski had glided through the snow leaving the consistent
swirl mark of a tail behind. Here and there a perfectly round hole appeared in a drift.
The otters apparently looking for direction, would pop their heads up through a leaving a
perfectly round hole in the snow behind drift, for a good look around.

Just as they pop their heads up out of the water, just off shore, when they are
playfully taking a good look at you. Later that night I discovered that otters are prone
to domestic disputes, or perhaps they just had a little cabin fever. Once again I was
startled awake by what sounded to be a terrific, distant cat fight. My kitties were with
me. With some sound eavesdropping, it quickly became apparent - the otters were having a
pugnacious dispute. I was tempted to stomp around on the floor, and play Frank Zappa real
loud to hush them up. But in order to handle Frank Zappa at even one decibel, I'd be
forced to open the front door and swap wood stove warmed air for the chill of the night.

Suddenly it occurred to me - Pavarotti would be perfect. Undoubtedly Pavarotti would
even melt some snow! Okay so maybe I was getting a little cabin fevered too. Nonetheless I
was off to the stereo; thankful the electricity hadn't gone out as is wont on this island
during weather. A quick search through my tiny collection of CD's produced a favorite.
Surely Puccini's greatest love songs, presented by the gifts of Pavarotti, would appease
these cantankerous neighbors below.

A rich multicultural/critter experience it was. Soon we all melted into the power and
poignancy of Pavarotti. Who wouldn't be altered by the marvelous tenor purity? The otters
settled down. Peace returned. You can bet I didn't wait to report that to those guysdown
at the Department of Fish and Wildlife.

As quickly as the snows had quickly appeared; they as quickly disappeared.
We Islanders and the Lummi Nation became a new kind of stranded in the melted snows and
rain, the minor, albeit effective, flooding that followed the snow.

But that is another story. Although I do miss the wonder of them - the
Otters continue to carry on - - somewhere else! Yes! Life goes on. What I will remember
best of that holiday storm is the majestic power of nature. My most treasured gift of the
season was had standing mid-thigh in the brilliance of the glistening snow. In the silence
of nature, I watched, mesmerized, feeling blessed and awe-struck as a pod of Orca Whales
leisurely swam by.